


Candle

by aguantare



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen, Religious Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 08:38:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aguantare/pseuds/aguantare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s startling, the contrast between the Niall he knows from everyday tour life, yelping at Louis when he steals his food, throwing things at Liam to get his attention, and this Niall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candle

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: don't know them, don't own them, don't sue me
> 
> Only slashy if you squint.

The thing is, it’s not entirely unusual for one of them to go off on his own, especially at a time like this, near the end of the first leg of their tour, coming up on a much-needed break. They bicker more, it’s just inevitable, and over time they’ve learned that the best way to keep the peace is to just give each other space, walk away before things get out of hand, even if it’s just out onto the balcony for a cup of tea or a cigarette. 

But Harry’s curious. This is the fifth time he’s spotted Niall heading out on his own. The first time was back in Ireland, and now they’re here in LA, and it’s not like Harry’s worried or anything—Niall is dressed conservatively, more like he’s going to a nice restaurant than a club, and he’s got two security guys with him—but he’s definitely curious. 

“Hot date?” he asks as Niall walks by him in the hotel hallway. Niall laughs a little.

“Not quite,” he replies. He pauses for a second then, tucks his hands in the pockets of the dark trousers he’s wearing. 

“Want to join me?”

Harry looks down at his old jeans and slightly worn T-shirt, then at Niall’s trousers and polo. 

“Not sure I’m dressed for it, whatever it is.”

Niall shrugs.

“It’s mostly just for me,” he says, and Harry isn’t sure if he’s referring to his clothes, or wherever he’s going, or maybe both.

“Alright,” Harry agrees after a beat, “Let me grab my wallet.”

-

Niall gives the driver an address, and after half an hour picking through L.A. traffic on the highways, they’re winding up a hillside road, surrounded by trees and huge, widely spaced residences. It’s not the type of setting Harry normally associates with Los Angeles, but then again he’s only ever really seen the commercial, made-for-TV side of it anyways so he probably doesn’t really know L.A. at all. 

Another fifteen minutes or so, and they’re pulling up outside a dark-brick building with a spire and a round stained-glass window that Harry instantly recognizes as a church. Niall gets out of the car, and Harry follows, and the first thing he notices is that the air is noticeably cooler, and fresher, here than it was down at their hotel. The second thing he notices, when he turns his head a little, is the stunning view of Los Angeles that they now have. The city stretches out before them, an endless sea of streetlights and traffic lamps and headlights and brake lights and store signs.

Harry suddenly feels very, very small. 

“Want to come inside with me?” Niall asks after a few moments.

“Uhm.” Harry hasn’t been in a church in ages. “Sure.”

They walk up the steps and enter the church through the front door. It’s quiet inside, almost hushed. From their vantage point just inside the entry way, Harry can see the altar, and above and behind it, a crucifix. Niall moves then, steps toward a small table with a bowl of water on it. He dips his fingers into the water, raises them to his forehead, chest, and both shoulders. It’s a familiar, practiced movement, one Niall has clearly done hundreds, thousands of times, but it’s the first time Harry’s ever seen him do it. 

“I’m going to go over to that alcove over there,” Niall says, motioning toward the far end of the church, “You can walk around, if you want. The Father knows we’re going to be here.”

“You’ve been here before?” Harry asks, quietly, so his voice doesn’t echo too loudly in the wide open space. 

“Whenever we’re in L.A., if I can get the chance,” Niall replies matter of factly, “Other cities too, when I can.” He smiles a little at Harry’s surprise.

“Don’t be offended,” he teases gently. He pauses, then says, more quietly, “You’re the first one I’ve brought with me.”

By the time Harry can process that, Niall has already walked away. 

-

Harry lets Niall have some time to himself, walks around the church alone instead. There are alcoves all along the sides of the main space, headed by gently lit statues of saints and flanked by rows and rows of candles, some lit, others not. Harry doesn’t know a lot about Catholicism, other than the media stories he’s seen here and there, and having been the target of that same media attention, he knows a lot better than to make assumptions or judge rashly.

When he feels like a sufficient amount of time has passed, he makes his way down to the alcove Niall had indicated. He steps into the domed space. 

And stops. 

Niall is on his knees at the bench in front of the statue, back to Harry, head bowed, hands clasped in front of him. He’s so still that Harry almost wonders if he’s breathing, and it’s startling, the contrast between the Niall he knows from everyday tour life, yelping at Louis when he steals his food, throwing things at Liam to get his attention, and this Niall. 

_Beautiful_ , he thinks, without really meaning to, and wonders belatedly if it’s sacrilegious.

Just when he’s starting to feel a little awkward, watching one of his best friends in what is clearly a private moment, Niall raises his head, looks up at the statue and crosses himself again. Then he pushes himself to his feet and turns around. He doesn’t look startled or offended to see Harry standing there, just smiles a little. Niall turns his attention to one of the racks of candles along the wall then, reaches for the box of matches at the end. Harry shuffles a few steps closer. Niall strikes a match to life, picks up one of the candles, and lights it. Sets it back down. Reaches for another candle. Lights that one as well. The match burns down to his fingertips after he lights the third one, and he strikes another match. 

When he blows that one out, there are four candles in a row, burning bright in the soft lighting. Niall looks at them for a long moment, then looks back at the statue. 

“Who is she?” Harry asks. 

“Saint Cecilia,” Niall responds, turning to look at him, “She’s the patron saint of musicians.”

Niall looks at him for a second longer, then steps back, rests a hand briefly in the small of Harry’s back as he moves away and exits the alcove. 

Harry looks up at the statue, then back down at the candles. Four candles. 

Four candles. Patron saint of musicians. Four of them. Musicians—

Harry’s eyes burn, blur with painful, sudden realization. He has to swallow hard to dislodge the lump in his throat.

After a long few seconds, he takes the match box, opens it carefully, retrieves a match, and strikes it once, twice. The flame leaps into the air. He reaches carefully for the fifth unlit candle in the line, touches the match to the wick. It flares, warm, bright, golden, and he sets it back down in the row with the others. Blows out the match. 

-

“What took you so long?” Niall asks when Harry joins him back outside. He’s gazing out over the city, but when Harry doesn’t respond right away, he turns to look at him.

“I was just.” Harry pauses for a second. “Can I. The next time. Can I come with you again?”

Niall smiles, leans into him a little.

“Of course. But. I mean. Can I ask why?”

Harry swallows, because the lump in his throat is back again.

“I just.” He looks out at the city again. “I feel like you should have one of us there to light a candle for you.”

Long pause. Then there are fingers curling around Harry’s, squeezing tight.

“Of course,” Niall repeats, barely above a whisper. The ‘thank you’ hovers, soundless, at the end of it, but he doesn’t say it. 

He doesn’t need to.

**Author's Note:**

> Personal disclaimer: I'm not Catholic, but a lot of my family is. I disagree with the Church on a lot of things, but I respect a lot of the work that Catholic social welfare organizations do with disadvantaged populations. I know some batshit insane Catholics, and some really thoughtful, good-hearted Catholics.


End file.
